


Glass and Barbed Wire

by forwantofanoxfordcomma



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Adora Tries Her Best, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Feels, Car Accidents, Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Catra (She-Ra) Swears, Catra Has Issues (She-Ra), Character Death, Christmas Fluff, Descent into Madness, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Non-Linear Narrative, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Time Travel, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, inspired by Undone, just updating the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23382616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forwantofanoxfordcomma/pseuds/forwantofanoxfordcomma
Summary: “See,” Catra says, sitting down on the grass with a bitter smile. “This is what I was talking about. Just one quiet afternoon.”Except there isn’t any grass in their apartment and Catra is already sitting down and she’s not in a dog park or a graveyard or a ship and everything is so confusing.“Are you ready to listen to me now?” Razz asks. Catra was wrong. The smile on the old woman’s face isn’t poisonous or bitter or vindictive. It’s tired.“Because Adora is still dead and if we are going to change that, you need to listen.”~Or the one where Catra might be sane, Adora might be dead, and nothing is certain.
Relationships: Adora & Bow & Glimmer (She-Ra), Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow & Catra (She-Ra), Catra & Scorpia (She-Ra)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 137





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Grief  
> Stephen Dobyns
> 
> Trying to remember you  
> is like carrying water  
> in my hands a long distance  
> across sand. Somewhere people are waiting.  
> They have drunk nothing for days.
> 
> Your name was the food I lived on;  
> now my mouth is full of dirt and ash.  
> To say your name was to be surrounded  
> by feathers and silk; now, reaching out,  
> I touch glass and barbed wire.  
> Your name was the thread connecting my life;  
> now I am fragments on a tailor's floor.
> 
> I was dancing when I  
> learned of your death; may  
> my feet be severed from my body.

i.

“See,” Catra says, sitting down on the grass with a sad smile. “This is what I was talking about. Just one quiet afternoon.” 

The grave doesn’t say anything back to her. 

“I hate you. I can’t stand you. You’re stupid and oblivious and you don’t ever think about me and what I need-- it’s all just about the mission or the cause or whatever. You never put me first. Never, in your whole fucking life.”

Catra sighs, sitting still for a long while. The wind rustles her hair. The silence is suffocating. She reaches into the pockets of a jacket that doesn’t fit. 

“I hate you so much,” her voice shakes. “I hate that I can’t succeed without you looking over my shoulder, claiming my hard work as your influence or whatever-the-fuck. I hate that I can’t step out of your shadow, even though we’re equals. I hate that it was so easy for you to replace me. I hate that you wanted to replace me. I hate that I’m not good enough for you. I hate that--”

The pills rattle in their little orange casing. Catra tears off the cap.

“I think the thing I hate the most is that I can’t live without you,” she says, her lips quirking enigmatically. “So this is it.”

She slumps over into the soft grass, cradling the bottle to her chest as she slides it open. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven-twelve-thirteen-fourteen pills tumble into her shaking hands.

“I love you,” she says finally. The grave is silent, watching her. Catra feels strangely judged by this hunk of rock with her best friend’s name.  _ Adora _ , the grave reads.  _ Taken too soon. _ Yeah, they had no fucking idea.

The one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven-twelve-thirteen-fourteen pills go down dry. 

She gags a little bit, but she doesn’t choke. 

It won’t be long now, she realizes. Catra allows herself a small hopeful smile. 

She’s not sure how long she waits, dozing in the warm sunlight.

The world fades into darkness.

ii.

“Fuck--” a body smashes through the windshield. This is wrong, she wasn’t there when it happened, no one was there, no one could have done anything. 

Catra slams into the airbag, feeling her nose break on impact. She is tense and she can feel the straining muscles that will be sore for weeks ahead. 

“Cat--” the girl stuck halfway through the windshield coughs. Adora. 

Catra scrambles out of her seat, surging forward to cradle her only friend. 

“Babe,” she says, ignoring the broken glass sticking out of her arms and legs. She strokes her best friend’s face, counting her breathing carefully. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Adora groans. 

Catra shakes her. 

“Eyes open, ‘Dora. You need to stay awake,” she’s crying. “C’mon, babe, you gotta keep your eyes on me.” 

The drunk driver who instigated the crash climbs out of her side of the wreck. 

“Holy shit,” she says loudly. Catra glares at her. 

“Well don’t just stand there, dipshit, fucking call an ambulance! Jesus fuck!” Catra holds Adora close to her chest. 

“Illoffue,” Adora says faintly, voice garbled. Catra holds her even closer, putting pressure on the wounds. She can’t look away. 

“That’s it, babe. Just stay with me,” Adora tries to say something again, but she is cut off by a series of hacking coughs. “Eyes on me, Dore-bore. That’s it, just hold on. Catra’s got you.” 

“C’tra,” Adora says. “Illaffue….”

“Shhhh…” Catra says, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Adora is crying, too. 

There is a sound like a siren coming from far off. Catra chances a smile. Adora shifts, huffing quietly. Pain ripples across her features. Catra’s smile withers. 

“I miss you, you know. All the fucking time. So don’t leave me.” Adora winces as she heaves for breath. Catra continues. “I swear I’m gonna resurrect you just to kill you myself if you die.” 

“C’tra, m’scrd,” Adora says. 

Catra holds on. 

“You’re not going anywhere, princess,” Catra says into Adora’s hair.

“I’m Razz, dearie.” an old woman says, nudging Catra on the shoulder. “And you are on a ship.”

Catra turns as suddenly as she can while keeping up the pressure on Adora’s gaping wounds. 

“Who the fuck--”

“Nope!” says Razz cheerfully from far off before she is suddenly directly behind Catra, thundering. “I can say whatever I like!”

Catra yelps. “Holy sh--” 

iii.

“For the last time, I’m fine!” Catra says. “I’m not upset.” 

She’s still upset. Scorpia rounds the kitchen table slowly like Catra’s a wild animal that she doesn’t want to startle. Catra wants to snarl at her. She doesn’t.

“Are you sure?” asks Scorpia carefully. “You still seem a little upset.” 

“Yes, I’m sure!” Catra snaps, trying not to focus on the knot forming behind her eyes. “I just need to take a second…”

Something is wrong. She was in a car-- no, a graveyard-- no, a ship-- wait, a ship?

“Yes, three weeks,” Razz says from the living room. “She’s been waiting for you.”

“Just give me a second--”

iv.

A foghorn blasts. 

“Just give me a call if you need anything,” the nurse says. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Catra says, staring at the waves instead of looking him in the eye. The ocean is rough, each wave whirling and pounding on the distant cliffside. 

The nurse leaves, stopping in the doorway only to exchange greetings with an emotional Scorpia. 

“Catra!” Scorpia cries, pushing into the room. 

“Roomie,” Catra says, shooting halfhearted finger guns at her self-professed friend. 

The deck of the ship sways back and forth. Scorpia reaches out for a hug but aborts the motion halfway through. Catra slurps her juice box, laying back on the hospital bed. 

“Why are you here?” Catra asks, smiling sardonically. 

“Because I care?” Scorpia says. “Because you’re my best friend in the whole world and you tried to kill yourself three weeks ago and I’m probably traumatized?”

“Three weeks?” Catra asks, watching the seagulls. 

“Yes, three weeks,” Razz says from a chair adjacent to Catra’s hospital bed. Razz is watching the seagulls too. “She’s been waiting for you.”

“Who even are you?” Catra asks, whipping her head around to face the cantankerous old shrew. Scorpia furrows her brow.

“I’m Razz, dearie,” Razz says, nudging Catra on the shoulder. “And you are in a hospital.”

“I thought I was on a ship?” Catra says, turning back towards the waves. 

“Wildcat?” Scorpia says. “You doin’ okay over there?”

“Nope!” says Razz cheerfully. She’s not wrong. The waves have turned into scratchy looking carpeting and the cliff face into a distant skyline. 

“Hello? Earth to Catra! Anybody home?” asks Scorpia. 

“I can say whatever I like!” Razz says, irritated.

“Shut up,” Catra says. 

“Oh good, you’re still you,” Scorpia says. 

“I can’t believe you were the first person to visit me,” Catra says. A month ago, it would have been-- well, it wouldn’t have been Scorpia. 

“I wasn’t,” Scorpia says slowly. “Bow came right before me. He was leaving when I came in.” 

v.

“Hey, Catra,” Bow says from the doorway. “I got you a juice box…” 

He’s awkward and stiff and considering their history, it’s no surprise. Catra snatches it from him and slurps the juice noisily. Fruit punch. Not the worst.

Bow doesn’t leave. 

“What are you doing here?” Catra asks, not looking him in the eye. 

Bow clears his throat. 

“You’re my friend and you’re hurting and life is shitty and I don’t want yours to end,” Bow says.

“Oh yes, I’d almost forgotten about our remarkable time-tested friendship,” Catra says dryly. “Why are you really here?”

“Because I don’t want you to die, okay? Adora wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if she knew that she was the reason you were dead,” Bow says, scuffing his boots on the linoleum floors. 

“Then why isn’t she here?” Catra asks. “She’s not here, asshole. She’s not here…” 

Bow’s careful expression crumples when Catra finally turns to look him in the eye. 

They’re both crying, just a little bit. 

“She left me when we were kids and then I found her again and  _ finally _ things were going okay a little bit and then some drunk driver fucking snatches her away again. I’m just sick of her not  _ being here _ …” 

Bow nods, starry eyes glistening in the bright fluorescent lighting. Catra scrubs her eyes with her hands. 

“She loved you a lot, y’know?” Bow says. Catra scowls. “Just listening to her talking about you--”

“No,” she says, her voice biting and bitter, “I don’t know. After she left the first time, she never wanted to see me again.” 

There’s a pregnant pause. 

Then Catra exhales. 

“She loved every one. I wasn’t special. It’s just who she was,” Catra’s voice trembles. “The sucky part, though, was that she was special. I only loved her.” 

“You loved her…” Bow says, a little bit amazed. His tears drip down his chin messily. 

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” Catra grumbles. “And now she’s dead.”

There’s another pause, less expectant this time, though just as awkward. 

Bow’s phone buzzes. 

“You gonna get that?” Catra asks as he stares at the screen. 

“It’s Glimmer,” says Bow. Catra raises an eyebrow. “She’s been a little overprotective recently.”

He frowns, then wipes away the salty tracks building up on his face. Catra slurps the juice box again. 

“I didn’t tell her I was here.”

Catra rolls her eyes. 

“Then go see her. She’s your best friend, right?” she grins awkwardly. “I literally just tried to kill myself to see my best friend again. Don’t be an asshole. Go tell the princess that the mean tiger-lady didn’t eat you alive.” 

“The day’s still young,” Bow jokes. 

Catra shrugs. 

“Oh God, you’re really gonna eat me,” Bow says. “But seriously, just give me a call if you need anything.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Catra says, staring out the window instead of watching him walk away. 

Bow leaves, stepping into the hallway to take Glimmer’s phone call. 

“Catra!” Scorpia cries, pushing into the room. 

“Huh,” Catra says. “You were right.” 

“What?” Scorpia says, confused. 

“You said you weren’t the first person to come visit. You were right,” Catra says. 

She slurps her juice, laying back on her bed. 

Scorpia frowns. 

“Yes, three weeks,” Razz says from a chair adjacent to the bed. Catra nearly jumps out of her skin. “She’s been waiting for you.”

“What the hell?” Catra says, holding a hand to her racing heart. Scorpia frowns heavily.

“I’m Razz, dearie,” Razz says, nudging Catra on the shoulder. “And you are in a hospital.”

“Yeah, you fucking told me that already,” Catra says, calming down slowly. “Are you, like, a robot or something?”

“Wildcat?” Scorpia says. “How you feelin’ over there?”

“Nope!” says Razz. 

“Yeah, that freaky lady has been saying the same shit all day,” she points at the elderly woman. Razz huffs and bats Catra’s finger out of her face.

“I can say whatever I like!” Razz says, proving Catra’s point.

Scorpia puts a hand to Catra’s head. Catra hisses. “Don’t touch me, weirdo!” 

“There’s no one there,” Scorpia says slowly. “Do you need me to call a nurse?” 

“No, no. I’m fine, it’s just a headache.” Catra says, just as slowly. They watch each other carefully. Scorpia makes a run for the call button for the nurse. Catra leaps to stop her. Or, at least, Catra tries to leap to stop her, but she’s trapped by covers and blankets and bandages and weird tubes that all choose this exact moment to be restrictive. She tumbles, landing back on her bed face first. The juice box goes flying, hitting the ground and spraying bright red fruit punch flavored juice all over the white linoleum tiles.

Scorpia presses the button that calls the nurse. 

Catra wants to be furious, but a sudden wave of exhaustion passes over her. All the anger she can scrounge up just fades harmlessly against her sudden need to sleep for a million years. 

“I’m gonna kill you, Scorpia,” Catra says, but it sounds more like ‘imgnaklluescpaaa’ from her new position face down on the pillow. 

Catra yawns, then picks herself up and curls into a sleeping position at the foot of the bed. 

“Imma kill you later,” she decides. It sounds like ‘immaklluelatr’. 

“Goodnight, Wildcat,” Scorpia says. “Feel better…” 

Catra is asleep before the nurse comes. 

vi.

Catra wakes up at home. There’s lights on in the hallway. Catra gets out of bed and pushes the door open. She’s too short to reach the door handle, but Mama left the door cracked just in case she needed to go to the bathroom.

“Mama?” Catra asks, rubbing her eyes as she stumbles into the kitchen. “Oh, hi, Papa.”

“Hey, kitten,” says Papa. He’s making hot chocolate on the stove. “What’re you doing up?” 

“I had a nightmare,” Catra says, very seriously. 

“Tell me everything,” Papa says. Catra likes the way that Papa always looks her in the eye when he’s talking to her. She tells him everything she remembers from her nightmare. 

“You and Mama died and a mean lady was my new mama and I had a best friend but she died too and then I was all alone so I died. But then I was on a boat and this old lady kept telling me that she could say whatever she wanted and I was really scared.” 

Papa strokes his chin thoughtfully. 

“That sounds pretty silly,” he says. “Mama and me, we aren’t gonna die anytime soon. We’re right here, kitten. Promise.” Catra smiles wobbly. 

He pulls two mugs out from the cupboards and sets them down before carefully pouring the hot chocolate in, one at a time. 

Catra takes the NASA mug. Papa takes the Superman mug. 

Papa puts four mini-marshmallows in each mug.

Catra sneaks in a whole handful.

Papa lets her.

He makes silly faces at her from over his glasses. Catra likes that they have the same eyes. Blue and green. She laughs out loud when Papa sticks his tongue out and pulls his ears down. 

“You’re silly, Papa!” Catra giggles. 

“The silliest,” he agrees. 

By the time she finishes her hot chocolate, she’s sleepy again. Catra yawns and presses a hand to her eye. 

“C’mon,” Papa says, picking her up. “You gotta get to bed, kitten.”

Catra snuggles into his arms.

“Okay,” she says. 

She’s happy when she drifts off. 

vii.

“Catra, are you even listening to me?” Adora asks through the phone, sounding annoyed. 

“Yeah,” Catra yawns. “‘Course, Dora.”

“Then what did I say?” the blonde asks pointedly. Catra can practically see her putting her hands on her hips. 

Catra shrugs. 

“Something about cheerleading?”

“Illoffue,” Adora says.

Catra jolts in place. 

“What?” she says. 

“ _ I said _ , you need to start paying attention!” Adora is upset. Like, seriously really upset. “They want to adopt me!” 

Catra freezes.

“Miss Mara and Miss Hope wanna adopt me,” Adora says. She’s crying. 

Catra feels like she’s been punched in the gut. 

“You’re gonna do it, aren’t you?” Catra says. “You wouldn’t be sad otherwise.” 

Adora sniffles. 

“We’re thirteen, Catra,” she says. “If I don’t take this chance…” 

Catra doesn’t know what to say. 

It’s not as sudden as it feels. Catra’s known this was going to happen ever since Mara started fostering Adora three years ago. They still go to Frigh Middle School together and they still hang out on weekends and stuff. Adora’s been doing cheer competitively and Catra goes to her competitions and stuff. Catra does technical theater and Adora goes to the school shows. 

They’re still best friends. 

Catra takes a deep breath. 

“It’s not like we didn’t see this coming,” Catra says. “We’ll still hang out at school and stuff. It’ll be fine. We’re still best friends.” 

There’s a rustling sound on the other side of the phone line. Adora doesn’t say anything.

“We’ll still hang out, right?” Catra says, more forcefully this time. 

Adora makes a squeaky noise. Catra’s heart sinks. 

“Mara wants me to go to Brightmoon for high school!” Adora rushes out. 

Catra’s world tips on its axis.

“But we can still be friends, right?” Adora asks.

viii. 

“But we can still be friends, right?” Adora asks, a faux smile on her face. 

Catra snickers. 

Octavia growls. 

“Awesome!” Adora cheers winningly. “I’m glad we worked that out.”

Catra grabs her hand and pulls her out of the room, darting down the halls together giggling. Catra turns to look back and sees Octavia in the dust behind them. They turn a corner and Adora pulls them into an empty room. Or, rather, a suspiciously not empty room. 

“Holy shit!” Catra whisper-shouts. “We found the Witch’s office!” The very air feels stifling. A massive stone desk takes up most of the room and a polished bronze owl glares at them eerily. 

“It’s a study, Catra,” Adora whispers back. 

“Let’s hide under Shadow Weaver’s desk.” Catra rasps, trying to keep her voice down. “Octavia will never look for us there!” Neither of them touches anything.

Adora rolls her eyes. 

“This is stupid,” Adora says. “If you want Shadow Weaver to get angry at you, be my guest.” 

Adora peeks out into the hallway. 

Catra groans and drags her feet, but if Adora is leaving, Catra is leaving too. 

“You’re such a buzzkill,” Catra says, watching over her shoulder. Adora is cautious, looking back and forth. 

“We gotta be careful,” Adora hisses, turning to Catra momentarily. 

“Not careful enough,” gloats Octavia. She and Shadow Weaver turn down the hallway. Adora shrinks. Catra puffs out her chest. 

“It was my idea to hide in here,” Adora says quickly. Catra glares and crosses her arms. 

It takes one day for the bruises to settle on Catra’s skin. It takes two weeks for the greens and blues and purples to fade into sickly yellows and reds and browns. It takes six months for either of them to enter the office again.

ix.

“But we can still be friends, right?” Adora asks. 

Catra tries not to guffaw. She almost manages it. 

Octavia growls. 

“Awesome!” Adora says with a megawatt grin. “I’m glad we worked that out.”

Catra grabs her hand and pulls her out of the room, darting down the halls together giggling. Catra turns to look back and sees Octavia in the dust behind them. They turn a corner and Adora pulls them into an empty room. Or, rather, a suspiciously not empty room. 

“Holy shit!” Catra whisper-shouts. “We found the Witch’s office!” The air feels stiff and oppressive. A massive stone desk takes up most of the room with brass instruments decorating the surface. A polished bronze owl glares back at them from its perch on the mantle. 

“It’s a study, Catra,” Adora whispers back. Neither of them touches anything.

“Well, I’m not sticking around until she comes back,” Adora says, backing out of the room. Catra rolls her eyes, but she can’t help but agree. There’s a bad feeling in her stomach, so even as she gripes and groans, Catra shuffles them both out of the room as quickly as possible.

“This is stupid,” Catra says. “If you want to get beaten up by Octavia, be my guest.” 

Despite what Catra says, she’s not going to hide here alone. She’s not suicidal. 

Catra peeks out into the hallway. 

Octavia is nowhere to be seen. Catra darts down the corridor and rushes to Adora’s room as quickly as possible. 

Adora follows. 

Something deep inside of Catra eases and the weight of the world seems to slide off of Adora’s shoulders. They’re both relieved to be out of that awful room.

It takes four months before either of them enter the office again.

x.

“Fuck--” Adora is flying through the air, her solid frame shattering the windshield easily. Catra doesn’t look away this time. The air leaves her lungs as she hits the airbag. There’s blood and bruises and none of it means a thing, because Catra’s here again and she can do something, can’t she? She’s done this before, she knows it the way that she knows that the broken nose will heal in three weeks and the bruises will fade in 

“Cat--” Adora coughs, angel wings of broken glass falling into place around her. Adora is beautiful when she is dying. Catra wants to throw up.

Catra rushes forward, reaching out to pull Adora from the wreckage like some sort of valkyrie. The world shatters again, even as Adora stares at Catra like she means everything in the world. 

“Someone call a fucking ambulance!” Catra screams, pulling Adora’s broken body closer to her chest. She carries the stronger girl out of the wreck in a princess carry, placing her down on the sidewalk a meter away. “Please-- somebody!!” 

Catra tears into her shirt, ripping it into long strips of fabric. 

“C’mon, Dora,” Catra says, using the makeshift bandages to put pressure on Adora’s wounds.

“Illoffuectra,” Adora chokes out. 

Catra keeps talking, hoping to keep Adora focused on her. 

“You are not allowed to die, Dora. I did it and it fucking sucked ass and I did it because you never put me first and you never cared about me any more than you cared about any one else and you were so oblivious and so self-centered and it hasn’t made anything better or even remotely different! You can’t die!” Adora coughs, but her breathing evens out a little. There are sirens in the distance. 

“Holy shit,” the drunk driver says loudly. Catra doesn’t bother turning to glare at her. 

“Stay with me, Adora,” Catra says. “There’s an ambulance right around the corner, babe. You’re gonna be just fine.”

She’s not lying this time. 

At least, she hopes she’s not.

xi. 

“Hey, Catra,” Adora says from the doorway. “Bow got you a juice box…” 

Catra looks up. 

“Thanks, or whatever,” she says, popping it open. “Why are you guys here?” 

Adora shifts uncomfortably. 

“Because you were there for me through the whole car crash and Bow and Glimmer are good friends and I haven’t been there for you the way I wanted to and I know we don’t talk as much as we used to and I know that’s partly my fault but I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you and Iloffue so so much and--”

“What did you say?” Catra cuts her off. Adora’s cheeks turn a little bit pink and she smiles sweetly at Catra. 

“I love you, and not in a platonic best friend way even though you are my best friend, and I don’t want you to  _ die _ before you hear me say it out loud,” Adora says. Catra grabs her hands and holds them to her chest. 

“I love you, too.” Catra says. 

They’re both crying, just a little bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October  
> Morning  
> Simkha Shayevitch
> 
> grey Autumn  
> like a spider  
> crawls on my head  
> and weeps  
> and spins  
> dark dreams.

i.

“What do you want, Catra?” Adora asks, throwing her hands in the air dramatically. Catra rolls her eyes. “Like, for the Secret-Santa-White-Elephant-whatever-thingy.”

“You got Entrapta for the Secret Santa,” Catra tells her. Someone honks and Adora’s hands fly back to the wheel.

They’re in Adora’s car. Catra is sitting shotgun, with her knees pressed up against the dash. Adora is drumming her hands on the steering wheel.

They haven’t talked in a while. It’s probably why Adora set up this whole gift exchange thing. She can’t let her friends drift too much without worrying about a falling out, which, considering Catra’s track record, is a totally fair worry. Still, it’s grating to have Adora looking over her shoulder all the time.

They pull up to an intersection.

“How is my opinion even play into this?” Catra asks, trying not to fixate on the brief lull in the conversation.

Adora shrugs.

“I was gonna get you something anyways,” the blonde says. “C’mon, tell me what you want for Christmas!” 

Catra resolutely ignores her.

“No, let me guess,” Adora starts giggling. “A hippopotamus!”

“ _All I want for Christmas is you,”_ Catra doesn’t say. “Dumbass,” she says instead.

“Who’d you get anyway? For the White Elephant.”

Catra laughs.

“It’s not a White Elephant, Adora. It’s a Secret Santa. Totally different. And wouldn’t you like to know?”

Adora pouts.

The light turns green.

“You drive like an old lady,” Catra says.

“Don’t you go trying to change the subject on me!” Adora waggles her finger at Catra.

Catra snorts.

“I got Bow,” Catra says. “This isn’t some sitcom. Fate doesn’t hate me enough to give me Glimmer.”

“Oh, we both got techies!” Adora says like it’s some kind of brilliant revelation. Her cheeks puff up and her eyes do the squinty determined thing and Catra’s heart does a little flip flop in her chest. “Let’s get them tickets to that big technology conference that’s coming up!”

“Yeah, Dora. Let’s get them both the same exact present that is not cheap at all and that Entrapta literally told you she already bought for herself,” Catra says. “That’ll go over well.”

It’s a testament to Adora’s vibrancy that she doesn’t deflate at all.

“So you can get Bow the ticket and I can get Entrapta a hair care kit or something,” Adora says.

Adora sneaks a fond glance at the other girl. Catra flicks her cheek.

“Eyes on the road, dummy,” Catra says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Adora chuckles, swatting at Catra’s hand.

They pull into Catra’s apartment complex’s parking garage carefully.

“Hey,” Adora says, as she gets out of the car to say goodbye. She goes to hug Catra, but something makes her abort the motion and instead her arms hang awkwardly in the air beside her. Catra tries to smile. It’s more of a grimace than anything. “This was fun.” Adora finishes lamely.

“Yeah,” Catra says, crossing her arms over her chest. A chill seeps into her bones, but Adora is trying to say something, so Catra doesn’t go inside yet. Adora stuffs her hands into her pockets and waits for Catra to finish. “It was nice.”

“Let’s do it again sometime,” Adora says.

“Coffee? Or friend group things?” Catra asks, her lip curling.

“Coffee,” Adora says firmly.

“Okay,” Catra says. She hopes that Adora blames the cold air for the pink dusting her cheeks. “Let’s do coffee.”

ii.

“See,” Catra says, sitting down on the grass with a smile. “This is what I was talking about. Just one quiet afternoon.” 

“Define quiet,” Adora snorts. “We’re literally one bike rack away from the dog park.”

“Shut up,” Catra says, stretching on the picnic blanket. Her shoulders make a series of cracking noises. Adora winces at one particularly loud pop.

The picnic blanket is big enough for the two of them to lay down completely separately, but Catra likes to pretend that she doesn’t know what personal space means when it comes to Adora. She ends up sprawled across the blonde’s legs.

“Catra,” Adora giggles, pushing her off. “I need those. Get off.”

“Nope,” Catra tells her, not opening her eyes. “They’re mine now. Sorry babe, I don’t make the rules.”

“You literally just made that up,” Adora says. “C’mon, let me up. I wanna grab some ice cream.”

“Geek,” Catra says, shielding her eyes with her hand as she lifts her head. “Get me some of that—“

“Black raspberry, yeah, I know,” Adora says before jogging off. Catra counts one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven-twelve-thirteen-fourteen seconds before Adora turns around and starts jogging back.

“Forgot something?” Catra snickers, yawning lazily at the embarrassment on Adora’s face.

“Shut up,” Adora says, scooping up her jacket.

“Sir yes sir,” Catra says, saluting.

Adora digs around in the pocket for a second before pulling out her wallet with a triumphant sound.

Catra’s eyes are still shut tight to defend against the sun so she doesn’t see when Adora throws her jacket right at her face.

The zipper part snags at Catra’s hair, but she works it out pretty easily. Adora jogs right back over to the ice cream shop across the street. Catra ends up balling the jacket up as a makeshift pillow to nap on.

The sun beats down on her, but Catra just focuses on finding the most comfortable position possible before Adora gets back. She shifts, adjusting around a rocky patch beneath the picnic blanket. Her eyes open for just a moment and the whole world is just too bright—

iii.

“For the last time, I’m fine!” Catra says. “I’m not upset.” 

She’s still upset. Scorpia rounds the kitchen table slowly like Catra’s some kind of wild animal. Catra— who finds this metaphor fitting— bites back a snarl.

“Are you sure?” asks Scorpia carefully. “You still seem a little upset.” 

She takes a step forward. Catra takes a step back, hip checking the little table thing they use for the vases of flowers Perfuma keeps bringing over. A vase of peonies jolts, almost sliding off, but Catra catches it quickly.

“Yes, I’m sure!” Catra snaps. There is a knot forming behind her eyes, a migraine that she just knows will last far longer than it should. “I just need to take a second…”

Something is wrong. She was in a car— no, a graveyard— no, a ship—

“Just give me a second—”

“Are you ready to listen to me now?” Razz asks, a poisonous smile on her lips.

“I just need everything to stop—“

“Because Adora is still dead,” Razz is not smiling. Catra’s heart is beating out of her chest.

“— _changing_ so much because I don’t know what’s happening anymore—“

“And if we are going to change that, you need to listen.”

“Please _stop_!”

Catra comes back to herself. She’s curled up in fetal position. Scorpia is saying something in the soft mellow voice reserved for emergencies and when she looks around the apartment, there aren’t any mirrors anywhere. It looks exactly like it did the day that Catra left for the graveyard. The day that never happened because _Catra saved Adora_ and _everything is supposed to be okay now_ and _it’s not okay_.

“See,” Catra says, sitting down on the grass with a bitter smile. “This is what I was talking about. Just one quiet afternoon.” 

Except there isn’t any grass in their apartment and Catra is already sitting down and she’s not in a dog park or a graveyard or a ship and everything is so confusing.

“Are you ready to listen to me now?” Razz asks. Catra was wrong. The smile on the old woman’s face isn’t poisonous or bitter or vindictive. It’s tired.

“Because Adora is still dead and if we are going to change that, you need to listen.”

iv.

Catra doesn’t say anything this time, just sits down on the grass in front of Adora’s grave. 

“Fuck you, Adora!” Catra screams. She stops.

Catra makes a noise like a tortured animal of some sort and smacks a vase of flowers off of the stone slab. It shatters, spilling leaves and water and broken glass all over the place. Catra wants to scream.

“You asshole! What gives you the right?!”

She takes a swig of the bottle of peach schnapps that brought this outburst on. It’s too sugary and too sweet and too much so she throws it at the grave too. The glass is all sorts of colors now, blue-green mixing with harsh amber shades.

“No one said you could do this to me,” Catra tells her furiously. “You bitch. I love you. Adora-taken-too-soon, you ass. You’re just watching me from somewhere up there having a fucking ball!”

Catra hiccups a little bit.

“I hate you— hate you— hate you hate you hate you hate-you-hate-youhateyouhateyou,” Catra tells her. “Please come back?”

It’s the middle of the day.

Barely one in the afternoon, and here she is, drunk as a— a very dunk person— breaking down on the grave of her best friend.

“I started reading poetry for you, asshole,” Catra says, mostly so she can’t hear the silence.

“Fuckin’ Emily Dickinson and a bunch of sonnets and shit. You’d hate them cause they’re all super depressing, but you don’t get a say anymore.”

Catra clears her throat.

“If I can remember, fuck— um— gray Autumn is a spider who crawls on my head and spins dark dreams— it’s a haiku— I missed a line— something about crying— Jesus—“ Catra spits. She lifts shakes hands to clear the shattered glass off of Adora’s headstone. “Fuck,” she says as her blood joins the dirty flower water and schnapps running down the dark stone. “Sorry.”

Catra’s hands are red with blood and broken glass and she can’t save anyone, can she?

“Fuck,” Catra says again. “I’m sorry.”

v.

The car comes out of nowhere. It’s a green pickup truck and the woman who is driving it is an elementary school teacher. She’s young, despite her crow’s feet, and she got drunk off of spiked eggnog at a friend's Christmas party. Catra knows this because when Adora survives, Adora gets to know her. The elementary school teacher pays for her physical therapy and Adora makes her spill all her life issues over coffee and carrot cake. Catra also knows this because when Adora doesn’t survive, she comes to the funeral and spills it all when Catra tries to claw her eyes out.

The car comes out of nowhere and Catra doesn’t scream because the car is always coming out of nowhere and Catra is always stuck in the passenger seat and Adora is always flying through the windshield like an angel with her wings and halo of burnt metal and broken glass. Blood and bruises paint her like some kind of Michelangelo but this isn’t some holy caricature, this is Adora.

The car comes out of nowhere and Catra’s not sure if this is a dream or reality anymore.

The car comes out of nowhere and something _crunches_ and someone screams and the seatbelt is digging into her shoulder.

The car comes out of nowhere and Catra is already screaming for an ambulance even before the car is coming out of nowhere and Adora is flying and Catra is screaming and the car is coming out of nowhere—

vi.

“Catra?” Adora says, rubbing her eyes.

Catra jolts up.

“Uh, sorry,” Catra says, very eloquently. She sits up in her chair, adjusting her whole body to prevent from slumping back over onto the other girl’s legs and feet.

“No, you’re fine, I’m sorry,” Adora rushes out. Catra wonders what Adora is sorry about. “I was just confused. What happened?”

“This car came out of nowhere and—“ Catra cuts herself off. Gestures around them. “I fell asleep?”

“Now we’re here,” Adora finishes for her. Catra nods.

Now they’re here.

Adora’s hospital room is sparse and minimalistic. The walls are bare and the colors are all cream and off-white and eggshell. The blankets are blue and the machines are the kind that never really turn off— they just kind of drone and buzz and blink every once in a while. The windows should show a small courtyard with a walking path and a pond. They don’t. Instead, the starry expanse of space stretches out before her. It feels like they're in a pod, floating through space. Catra wonders, not for the first time, if she's totally sane.

“It just—“ Catra starts. Adora watches her. Catra smiles, a little bit strained. “It just doesn’t seem real.”

There’s a pause. Catra doesn’t look her in the eye. She can’t. She looks out the window instead. Betelgeuse twinkles and Catra can’t help but think that it’s fitting.

“Yeah,” Adora says. “I get it.”

She doesn’t get it, but that’s okay.

“Don’t get all mushy on me,” Catra warns, focusing on the galaxies and nebulas and the empty void of space out through the window instead of Adora’s dopey smile.

vii.

“Catra?” Adora says, nudging the smaller girl with the toe of her bright red boot.

Catra jolts up.

“Uh, sorry,” Catra says, very eloquently. She sits up on the picnic blanket, pulling Adora’s jacket out from under her head. She tosses it to Adora. The jacket isn’t very aerodynamic and it hits the ground in front of the blonde anticlimactically. Adora snorts before she sits down criss-cross-applesauce next to Catra on the picnic blanket.

“No, you’re fine, I’m sorry,” Adora smiles. She holds out Catra’s black raspberry ice cream cone. Catra wonders what Adora is sorry about. “I was just confused. What happened?”

“This car came out of nowhere and—“ Catra cuts herself off. She furrows her brow. That wasn’t right. She fell asleep, didn’t she? Catra shrugs and gestures around them.“I fell asleep?”

“Now we’re here,” Adora says. She takes a bite— a bite! What a heathen!— of her butterscotch cone. Catra is surprised the blonde didn’t go for the birthday cake flavor she’s been favoring since she moved in with Glimmer and Bow.

“It just—“ Catra pauses to lick her ice cream. Adora grins at her. Catra looks away. “It just doesn’t seem real.”

“Yeah,” Adora says. Catra can hear the soft smile in her voice. “I get it.”

Catra punches Adora in the arm.

“Don’t get all mushy on me,” Catra grumbles as she nuzzles Adora’s collarbone. The blonde just smiles her dopey little smile and everything is right in the world.

viii.

“Do you see?” Razz says. 

No, Catra doesn't see.

“How did I remember the car?” Catra asks. “Was I even in the car? I don’t remember anymore.”

“The most traumatic events send ripples throughout our lives,” Razz tells her.

The deck of the ship sways beneath their feet.

“You weren’t in the car, the first time.”

A foghorn blares.

Catra doesn’t flinch this time.

“Why the boat?” Catra asks.

“Because it’s important to you,” Razz says.

Catra watches the seagulls.

“Are you ready to listen to me now?” Razz asks, her exhausted smile adding years of age to her wizened features. “Because Adora is still dead and if we are going to change that, you need to listen.”

Catra takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” Catra says. “What do I need to know?”

Razz’s eyes sparkle.

ix.

“Do you know where the phrase ‘White Elephant’ comes from?” Catra asks.

Adora doesn’t say anything, just picks at her quiche idly. They’re in that little French café, the one Adora loves. It should be absolutely lovely— they’ve both taken off work to make this meetup a reality and they’re both trying very hard— but Adora isn’t happy for whatever reason and Catra isn’t the best at social cues, so it’s not lovely at all. Catra takes a bite of croissant.

“There was this old king in Thailand who would give albino elephants as a gift to vessels and courtiers that displeased him. The upkeep of the stupid thing would put them so deep in debt that they’d never have the same power or influence ever again,” Catra says. “They couldn’t get rid of the elephants— they were gifts from their liege, you can’t turn that down— but they’d be ruined— completely broke— just trying to keep the stupid elephant alive.”

“Yeah,” Adora says dryly. “But we’re doing the kind of White Elephant where you don’t go into crippling debt.”

“We’re doing a Secret Santa,” Catra corrects her. “Not a White Elephant. And my _point_ —“

“Whatever, Catra,” Adora says.

“My _point_ ,” Catra says. “—is that some gifts are good, sure, but other gifts suck. For a variety of reasons.” 

“You,” Adora says, pointing with her fork. “You suck. For a variety of reasons.”

“Oh my god, what is _up_ with you today?” Catra snaps. “Did Swifty piss in your coffee? Jesus, Adora.”

“Glimmer and Bow went to Mystacor without me!” Adora says. “They just— I don’t know— they just _disappeared_ and then I get, like, one phone call— and that’s supposed to make it okay somehow?”

“Gee,” says Catra. “I wonder what that could possibly feel like.” She starts pulling her stuff into her bag. The cozy little café suddenly feels horribly claustrophobic. Catra needs to get out of here.

“Catra, I’m sorry,” Adora says, eyes getting big and round and watery as she starts making the same connections as Catra. “Catra—“

“Whatever, Adora,” Catra says. She pulls her bag over her shoulder and stands up. “I have to go. You clearly have some shit to deal with. I’ll see you later.”

“Catra, please don’t leave—“

_Adora, taken too soon_ , Catra thinks. Adora, ever the angel, ever the hero, ever Michealangelo's perfect creation cradled in her halo and wings of blood and broken glass, ever holy and perfect and great even in death. Adora, ever cruel and callous. 

“You’ve got shit to deal with,” Catra says instead. “I’m not—“ _please don’t involve me_ , Catra doesn’t say.

“Promise to meet me for lunch,” Adora says.

“If you’re done being a bitch, I’ll meet you whenever,” Catra says. She leaves. The air outside the café is bitterly cold compared to the temperature-controlled indoors. Catra wraps her scarf a little bit closer around her neck.

x.

“Fourteen fucking pills, Catra!” Adora says, throwing her hands in the air.

Catra glares but doesn’t say anything. Her nails bite little crescent moons into the palms of her hands.

“You need to talk to me,” the blonde continues. “I’m not perfect, but I’m your friend, and I care about you and you need to tell me what’s going on before you pull shit like this—“

Catra scowls.

“Just stop,” she says. “You just— you’re not me, okay? I know you want to help but this isn’t your brain—“

“When did you even take them? I was gone for five minutes!” Catra remembers a graveyard. She remembers _Adora, taken too soon._ She remembers oppressive gray headstones and scraggly little bushes and a well-tended path between the stone benches and statues and mausoleums and polished marble. Catra remembers a cutting breeze and a dull maroon letterman jacket that does not belong to her. “Everything was perfect, I go to grab ice cream, and I come back and you’re fucking overdosing on _my pain meds_ and I just wanted a quiet afternoon with my best friend?! Why is this so impossible for us?!”

“I didn’t go to the dog park with you thinking ‘gee, you know what I bet won’t traumatize any young children?!’ I swear to God, I didn’t plan it this way,” Adora’s face flushes. Catra reads worry and anger and bone-deep sadness. Catra has to look away.

“Oh yeah, Catra? How did you want it to go? What was your grand plan?” it’s fury that seeps into Adora’s voice.

“I wanted to walk in front of a car,” Catra tells her. Adora takes a step back, like Catra has just attacked her. “More poetic that way.”

Adora’s jaw clicks closed. Catra stares at her hands.

“It’s just kinda scary. Cars move fast but I didn’t want to, like, bleed out on the street. I just wanted it to be over. I didn’t want more—” Catra waves a hand around, gesturing vaguely. “Bullshit.”

“Catra…” Adora says.

“You were dead. Or something, I don’t know anymore. I was angry and tired and I didn’t want to deal with any of it, okay? You don’t have the right to tell me what I ‘need to do’. I’m going to therapy, I'm taking my damn pills, I’m building up my support system or whatever, but you have to understand. I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to escape— or something. Dying was just a means to an end.”

“I’m not dead, Catra,” Adora says, grabbing Catra’s hand. She threads their fingers together.

“I know,” Catra lies.

xi.

“Hey, Adora,” Catra says. They're in a little French patisserie and café across the street from the dog park. Catra doesn't usually come here, but Scorpia broke her ankle and Catra volunteered to check her P.O. box on the way home from work and—

"Catra!" Adora says. "Oh my God, it's been forever! What are you even doing here?"

"Yeah, it's been a while," Catra says. "How's college treating you?" 

"It's—," Adora cuts herself off, staring at Catra. She's smiling brilliantly. Like Catra's everything. The center of her universe. Catra feels lightheaded. She didn't expect this. "I just— I thought that was it— I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Me too," Catra says. Her smile is just as wide. There are tears prickling at her eyes. "Then I looked through the window of my second favorite coffee shop and saw you and your stupid little hair poof—"

They crash into each other for the warmest, most wonderful hug Catra's ever had. (Adora is ugly crying for most of it. It's so very sugary sweet that Catra almost forgets to pretend that she isn't crying too.) It takes them several minutes to disentangle themselves afterward. 

"I missed you so much," Adora says. "Were you seriously gonna play it off like it was nothing like that?" 

"You left," Catra says. "I love you, and you left, and I wasn't gonna turn it into some big reunion thing if you didn't want it to be." 

"I want it to be," Adora says, and they're hugging again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be just the one chapter, but Catra strongly disagreed, so here we are. There shouldn't be a third chapter. To clarify, the Emily Dickenson Catra was referencing is The Bustle in the House.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Separation  
> W.S. Merwin
> 
> Your absence has gone through me  
> Like thread through a needle.  
> Everything I do is stitched with its color.

i.

Catra picks up Adora’s new phone.

“Did Miss Hope get you this for Christmas?” Catra asks. It slides open with a satisfying click. Catra plays with it, opening and closing it repeatedly. _Click-click-click-click-click_.

“Nope,” Adora says, a bit pink. “Hope got me an iPod!”

Catra, who got Adora an ancient cassette player she dug out of a goodwill bin, focuses on the phone instead of the sinking feeling in her gut.

_Click-click. Click-click-click-click. Click._

“Any good music?” Catra asks.

“I’m on Miss Hope’s account, so it’s mostly oldies,” Adora admits. “She’s got, like, _six_ whole playlists dedicated to Miss Mara.”

“That’s excessive,” Catra says, totally not thinking about the stack of mixtapes she made for Adora sitting on her desk at home.

_Click. Click-click._

“What about you?” asks Adora.

“Yeah,” Catra says. “Shadow Weaver got me a bike.”

It’s a crappy bike. The handlebars are full of dirt where the rubber hand-holds have worn down. The brakes squeal menacingly and the gears are stuck in place. Hills are a breeze, but the rest of the time, she’s exhausted from pedaling so hard.

“Lucky!” Adora says, punching her on the shoulder. “I’ve been begging for one for _years_ —“

“She mostly got it so she has an excuse to not drive me places,” Catra says.

_Click. Click._

“It’s still cool,” Adora decides. She’s got a weird sort of half-smile on her face. There’s bitterness and hope and fondness all wrapped up together in that look.

Catra tries to smile back.

But—

Suddenly, everything hurts.

Physically. There’s a pounding in her head and Catra’s muscles feel pulled too tight—

There’s a car coming out of nowhere— a foghorn blasting from far too close— a beeping machine that goes horribly silent—

“Holy shit—“ says Catra.

“Catra,” says Adora. She won’t look at her. Catra takes a step back. There’s a bent lump of plastic and broken glass sitting on the floor between them. Crap! Did she— Catra broke Adora's phone. There’s blood seeping into the fluffy carpet and Catra’s fingers sting. Sparks light up behind her eyes. Her head— her skull— her shoulder— her _hands—_ “Please leave.”

ii.

Catra is leaving when she runs into them.

“Hey, Catra,” says Bow, waving at her. Glimmer takes a pointed sip of her coffee.

“Uh,” Catra says. “Hi, Bow. Glimmer.” They’re all set up, laptops spread out across the tiny table of the coffee shop-slash-bakery.

“I didn’t think you knew about this little place,” Bow says, not unkindly.

“Regular, actually,” Catra says with a grimace. She lifts the little paper to-go box in the air. “I worked here summer of sophomore year— college. They make good— uh— baked goods, I guess.”

“No kidding,” Bow chuckles. He gestures towards his own plate, a cluster of lemon petit fours Catra remembers being too tart and too expensive. “Do you want to sit with us? We’ve got more pumpkin bread than we know what to do with.” Glimmer looks a tad offended that her breakfast is being volunteered, but it is a ridiculous amount of pumpkin bread.

Catra tries to smile at him. It’s far too strained to be kind.

“Today’s not the best,” Catra says.

Glimmer scoffs into her coffee. Catra ignores her.

“That’s cool,” Bow says. “No pressure. We come here most weekdays.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Catra says. She won’t.

iii.

“Look,” says Glimmer, running her fingers through her hair. “I don’t like you. But Adora does. Did. So.”

Catra doesn’t say anything.

“Just,” says Glimmer, starting and stopping and starting again. “She would have been glad you were here.” She’s dressed in a lacy black dress.

“I don’t need you to— I don’t know— ‘ _validate my pain’_ or whatever,” Catra says. “I’ve known her since kindergarten. I wasn’t going to miss her funeral out of _spite_.”

“No, yeah,” says Glimmer. “I get it.”

The pink-haired girl gives Catra a painful looking smile. Catra pushes past her towards the entrance of the church.

“Wait,” says Glimmer. “Do you want to— would you— sit in the front with us and Hope? You don’t have to.”

Catra gives her a once over.

“Miss Hope saved my seat already,” Catra says. “I’m doing the eulogy?”

“Oh,” says Glimmer, turning pink.

“But, thanks, I guess.”

Catra leads the way, winding through the church until—

“Miss Hope,” Catra says.

“Catra,” says Hope. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Hope looks tired and sad and sweet. Catra is reminded of Mara’s funeral.

She reaches out. Catches Hope’s hand in hers.

“Hey, Hope,” says Glimmer, smiling sadly.

The service is— not short.

Catra spends most of the time rereading the schedule (counting down the minutes until it's her turn to speak) and focusing on the sound of the pastor’s voice.

The photograph they use for the pamphlets and stuff is from one of Bow’s sibling’s weddings. She’s wearing a fluttery looking dress that’s eighty percent tule and twenty percent lace. She’s smiling the way she does when she’s just begun to loosen up after arriving at a formal function. There’s something cheeky about her wide grin, something sly in her bright eyes. She looks happy. She looks beautiful.

When Catra looks up at the pastor, she can see the blocky outline of the coffin— smooth and lacquered, made from dark expensive looking wood— just sitting there.

It feels like it is sucking all of the light out of the room.

But it’s not like it could have been an open casket thing.

iv.

Adora is—

Adora is really pretty with her hair pulled back like that. She’s really pretty in general, but this. This takes Catra’s breath away. So.

So she can admit it to herself.

Adora is beautiful. 

Does she know? Is she aware of the power she holds over Catra?

Catra wonders.

Does Catra affect her the same way?

Catra swallows.

It feels like stealing— like Adora’s existence is something to be coveted, something Catra has no right to witness.

God, now she’s getting all sappy and poetic. Catra hates this.

“Hey, Adora,” she says, nonchalantly.

Adora jolts, twisting around to beam at her.

"Catra!"

v.

“When you watch T.V. and movies and stuff, whenever a character dies, everyone has something to say. Long speeches about how ‘I never told you we were soulmates’ or ‘I’m secretly your father’ or whatever. There’s always something. And as a result, we’ve got all these cliches. These ‘holes in our heart’ or ‘rainy days’ or whatever.” Catra says. The crowd murmurs appropriately. “God, you guys have no idea how difficult it is to not just say ‘stay strong’ and walk away. Because these kinds of things are hard. And it’s nice to just work off of a script.”

There is a brief pause.

“Real life doesn’t work like that. When Miss Hope asked me to speak today, I had no idea what to say without sounding like a hallmark movie,” Catra admits. “So, we’ll start at the beginning.”

Catra swallows. “I met Adora when I was five years old. My parents had just died. She was my new roommate and I was a brat and she was this little ball of pure unadulterated sunshine. God, I fell in love like that.” Catra snaps her fingers.

“I think everyone falls a little bit in love with her. She’s empathetic and smart and so very _kind_ —

“But I digress. We were best friends all the way through elementary and middle school. When people say attached at the hip… Thank God our school was small enough that we could get away with it. I remember the first time we ever had a class apart. It was math. She got Ms. Montgomery and I got Ms. North. Adora bawled for hours when she found out. It’s strange, because Adora’s never had trouble making friends or finding good people. She’s a magnet for amazing people. It was her kindness, her worrying about her friends, her willingness to put my co-dependent needs above her own, even at that age.”

Catra is crying.

“Adora moved in with Miss Hope and Miss Mara when I was eleven. They officially adopted her on her thirteenth birthday. I’m not going to lie, I was heartbroken. She left me, went off to a fancy private school, and got some new best friends to replace me. I was jealous and hurt and I let that get between us. I didn’t really talk to her again until we were twenty-three. We saw each other at some random coffee shop and we were hugging and crying and it was like she’d never left. Adora— I think I hurt her. She always held people so close because she’s always been afraid of leaving and hurting them like she did with me.”

Catra’s breath rattles in her chest like she’s just run a marathon.

“But she has left. She’s gone now. And no matter how many coffee shops we walk by, she’s not miraculously reappearing. But she’s up there, looking down at us, terrified that her leaving is going to hurt us. And you don’t need me to tell you that it sure as hell hurts.”

Catra takes a deep breath.

“Adora was hard working and above all, kind. When Adora wasn't at work making the world a better place, she was cheering— literally and figuratively— for her friends to succeed. She would always trip over herself to help others, and when I wasn’t in the best place, she still reached out to me. She always encouraged me to be involved in life— to be kind, to be empathetic. It was her example that allows me to maintain my dearest friendships to this day. She bought out the best in me and everyone else in this room.”

Catra smiles.

“So remember her. Be your best. Above all, be kind.”

vi.

“Are you sure, Catra?” Miss Hope asks, her voice crackling through the receiver. Catra is sprawled out on her couch.

“Yeah,” says Catra. “Sorry, Miss Hope. I just—“

The sound of footsteps bounding up the stairs echoes through Catra’s little apartment. She suppresses a smile even as she rolls her eyes.

“It’s too soon,” says Miss Hope. “I understand.”

“I’ll be there, of course,” says Catra. “Save a seat for me in the front row, if you feel comfortable—“

“Catra!” calls Adora, standing in the doorway with her hands planted on her waist in a Superman pose.

“But I don’t think I can make a speech or anything.” Catra twists around on the couch to give her a _look_. "Just a second."

“Who is it?” Adora asks, leaning down to Catra’s level. Their noses could bump into one another if Adora leans in even just a little bit. Catra puts her hand over the microphone so she can talk to Adora without Hope overhearing.

“Your mom,” says Catra, pretending like her heart isn’t beating out of her chest. She sticks out her tongue.

“Hope?” Adora asks, blinking. “Are you guys gossiping about me?”

“Yes, that’s what we do when you’re hanging out with Glimmer and Bow,” Catra says, totally deadpan. She turns back to the phone.

“Sorry,” Catra says. “Roommate came home. What were you saying?”

“Ooooo, I’ve been upgraded to roommate!” Adora teases, as she disappears into the kitchen.

“You sleep over five days of the week and you eat all my damn food!” Catra calls back. “You’ve been upgraded, dumbass!”

“You love me,” Adora says in a singsong voice.

She does.

“You can’t prove anything!” Catra calls back.

“You’re coming to Adora’s funeral with me,” says Hope, from over the phone. “Do you need a ride?”

Catra exhales softly. The pitter-patter of Adora’s light footsteps around the kitchen fades into the sound of the air conditioning unit. Catra wonders.

“Yes, actually,” says Catra, looking around her empty apartment. “I think I’d feel safer.”

“Don’t blame yourself, dear,” says Razz.

“Don’t think anything of it, Catra,” says Hope. “You’re family.”

“Thank you, Miss Hope.”

The phone clicks off.

An hour later, Scorpia opens the door. It’s raining outside. Catra doesn’t sit up.

“She wouldn't want you to do this,” Scorpia says during dinner when Catra tells her about the call. “She would want you to move on.”

She's probably right. But quite frankly, Catra doesn't give a damn what Adora would want right now. She's dead, and has forfeited all say in how Catra lives her life.

vii.

Mama holds her hand during the funeral.

Papa and Aunt Cyra are crying the whole time. Catra watches the church people chant and sing from her pew. She hasn’t been to church since the last time she saw Grandma.

“Mama,” Catra says. “This dress is too tight.”

Mama kisses her on the forehead.

“Baby, we have to be quiet right now,” Mama says. “As soon as we get home, you can change into a pair of jeans, how does that sound?”

That sounds like it’ll take forever. But Catra stays quiet, only squirming in her seat every few minutes.

Catra spends most of the time looking at the mosaics on the walls. The windows are beautiful. Light bounces around the room in all sorts of colors and patterns and all the white flowers everywhere make it feel like a happier affair than it is.

There’s one part where everyone is allowed to stand in line to say goodbye to Grandma. She looks super peaceful and pretty, but Catra kissed her cheek during the visitation and she knows that Grandma’s skin is ice cold. Aunt Cyra gets up and tells some stories about Grandma’s.

When the funeral ends, Catra and Mama and Papa all get in the car and follow another bigger black car winding around the city a bunch. When she looks out the back window, Catra sees Aunt Cyra’s car (and a bunch more cars) following behind in a long line.

When the black car stops, they’re at a cemetery. Catra pulls on her little black sweater. It’s itchy, so she didn’t wear it in the church, but it has deep pockets (perfect for tissues) and it’s warm, so she wears it outside. There’s a weird contraption set up next to a little tent thing. Catra and Mama stand under the tent. Papa helps carry the casket over to the contraption. It’s lowered into the earth after some priest person says something about sheep and valleys and shadows.

They get back in the car and drive back to the church where someone’s set up a reception. It’s a little bit like the reception for Aunt Cyra’s wedding. There’s punch and cake and lots of people standing around in clumps. Mama lets Catra change her shoes and pull her hair out of its braid. Nobody brought jeans or anything though, so Catra’s still stuck in the dress.

Some extended family Catra’s never met before sits at Catra’s table. They chat with Papa and cry about Grandma together.

When it’s finally time to go home, Papa sleeps in the car.

Mama drives, keeping the radio on low.

“Mama, why’d they make brownies at the funeral?” Catra asks. “Grandma hates chocolate.”

“Babygirl, funerals aren’t for dead people,” Mama says. “They’re for people like us who have to keep living.”

Mama squeezes her hand.

viii.

No one holds her hand at Mama and Papa’s funeral.

Then Shadow Weaver comes.

And then it’s Adora-Adora-AdoraAdora _AdoraAdora._

And then Adora is _gone_ and Catra’s all alone.

And then it’s Shadow Weaver’s funeral and no one holds her hand.

And then it's Mara's funeral and Adora doesn't even look her in the eye.

And then it’s Adora’s funeral.

x.

Catra needs to center herself.

(There’s a case in her bag and there’s a bottle in the case and there are fourteen pills in the bottle and she’s been doing so much better that being in this place again just sucks—)

She needs to find something to keep her _grounded_ for five fucking minutes—!

_Adora-taken-too-soon_ flashes through her mind.

_Fuck Adora_ , Catra thinks furiously. She doesn’t mean it, but it feels nice to think. Catra wishes her whole life didn’t revolve around _Adora-taken-too-soon_ but it does and she hates it so _fuck Adora_.

Catra thinks of opera. She thinks of Pinkberry ice cream and watching weird documentaries with Scorpia and Entrapta. She thinks of old Disney movies and foosball tournaments and playing solitaire at work. She thinks of Entrapta’s hamster army and the meerkats at the zoo. She thinks of visiting Niagara Falls for the first time. She thinks of seeing the Eiffel Tower. Catra thinks of hot air balloon rides and adopting that cat she saw at the shelter, the one missing a leg.

“Okay,” Catra says aloud. She closes her eyes. “Okay.”

“Three weeks,” says Razz.

“Adora is— dead,” says Razz.

“Can you change anything?” says Razz.

“I love you,” says Adora.

“Are you ready to start our session,” says Razz

“Happy Birthday, Adora,” says Hope.

“Are you okay?” says Scorpia.

“I brought you a juice box,” says Bow.

“Remember what you’re here for,” says Razz.

“I don’t forgive you,” says Lonnie.

“This is the way we are, kitten,” says Papa.

“It’s all so very messy,” says Razz.

“Don’t look away,” says Razz.

"You are sick," says Razz.

“I love you,” says Adora.

“I killed myself,” Catra says aloud. “And here I am, ready to do all of this again.”

She laughs, but it’s a lifeless broken sort of thing.

“God, I’m pathetic,” she says.

In another life, this is the moment where she commits, gets on a different bus than usual, and spends her lunch break at the cemetery. This is when she gives Adora that speech full of cliches. This is when she takes fourteen pills into her hand and pops them into her mouth, one at a time.

But, here, in this life, Catra chooses to live.

Because she hasn’t been to a real opera house before. She hasn’t had Pinkberry’s new flavors or seen that documentary about model trains. She hasn’t seen Hercules or the Black Cauldron or the Little Mermaid. She hasn’t played foosball since she left college, she hasn’t met Entrapta’s newest rodent friend. She hasn’t seen Niagara Falls or the Eiffel Tower. She’s never been on a hot air balloon ride, and she’s never had a pet.

_Fuck Adora_ , Catra thinks, smiling to herself. Because Adora is worth living for, but she’s not Catra’s whole world, as much as it might feel that way at times. Catra won’t let herself die before she lives properly, even if Adora isn’t there to see it.

xi.

“Adora, this is—“

“Scorpia!” squeals not-Adora. She’s small, all arms and hair and wide smiles.

“Catra,” Adora smiles sweetly. Catra tries not to blush.

“That’s Entrapta,” Adora says. “I didn’t know you guys knew each other?”

“Are you kidding? We did robotics together in high school,” says Scorpia. Catra, who has seen Scorpia break multiple toasters and at least one microwave, is understandably confused.

“I did robotics,” corrects Entrapta. “You scribbled in your sketchbook the whole time.”

“Hi,” says a girl with pink and purple hair. “We met a couple of years ago, but you probably don’t remember. I’m Glimmer, and this is Bow.”

Catra remembers. Vividly.

Bow grins and waves. “Hello!” He wriggles his fingers.

“Yeah,” says Catra. “I remember you guys. I hope you’ve been treating my Adora-bear well.”

She’s not very good at smiling, but this time, it’s not so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay for real this time, last chapter.


End file.
